


Ghost Of You

by wayward_dream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean is a sap, Dean misses Cas, M/M, Pining, Reunion, Sam is an interrupting moose, Song fic, dean is in love, season 7, so much pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 17:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18428468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_dream/pseuds/wayward_dream
Summary: Set in early season 7, Dean is pining after Castiel’s ghost with no hope his lost angel will return to him. Never before has he felt the loss of a loved one this profoundly.





	1. The River

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when i was 17 and this is the only thing i wrote in that era I'm somewhat proud of so I'm gonna move it here to share with you all. I am the original author so if you read this on ff.net and remember it god bless your soul but yes this is my fic.

> _"I keep going to the river to pray/'Cause I need something that can wash all the pain"_

* * *

Dean wasn't sure what he was doing here again. Or why he had felt the need to lie to Sam about it. Maybe he just didn't want to see the pitying looks. Or maybe he didn't want Sam to offer to come along. This…this was something Dean needed to do alone.

He knew this wasn't healthy, returning to the place where he'd seen his best friend explode, ripped apart by the Leviathans; then again, Dean had never really cared about what was healthy regarding his emotional state—he just did what he wanted and that was that.

It had been a little over a month since Cas' death—because he had to be dead, or he would have returned by now—but Dean still found himself drawn to this place, where he'd pulled the black-stained trench coat that was still folded in the trunk of the Impala. Every time Dean got a chance to sneak away, he found himself driving here, praying to an angel that could no longer hear him.

Dean thought it was the pain that kept dragging him back.

If it would just stop  _hurting_  so damn much, he could move on with his life already. But the agony of Castiel's death was as raw now as it had been the day it had happened. He had lost so many people in his life-it was a hazard of the job-but losing Cas was worse because he had never expected it. The angel had always been, to him, someone impervious to death. He'd always come back to Dean and the hunter had come to expect it would always happen, so the shock of losing him had been abrupt and staggering. Even when he had planned to kill Cas, a small part of him had been relieved when it hadn't worked.

And now the hunter didn't know what else he could do but pray, pray for his friend to come back like he'd been doing for a month now. There had been no word—no sign, and Dean knew he was dead. He didn't like it, but he knew it was true and there was no getting around it.

Nobody was listening to his prayer.

But what else could he do?

Exhaling raggedly, Dean moved to his usual spot: the grassy area at the edge of the water, where he'd stood with Bobby watching his best friend wade out until he was gone. He could still remember being confused, wanting to chase after Cas, to dive in after him and stop him or maybe go with him, he wasn't sure, he just knew that he couldn't lose him. Not now, not like this, not after they'd been so close to having him back, to fixing everything…it couldn't end like this.

Swallowing, the hunter looked out across the grey water as he knelt, rippling slightly in an almost-nonexistent breeze. The grass soaked through his jeans, leaving his legs cold and damp, but he didn't care because he couldn't. He couldn't afford to care about much these days, not when everything was falling apart around him and he was powerless to stop it. He couldn't care...

He tipped his face to the sky, towards Heaven, and he hoped to God that someone—anyone—up there was listening, would give him answers. Because he couldn't take one more day of this, damn it. With Sam's wall gone and the Leviathans ready to tear the world apart, this one thing was just too much. And Dean couldn't stand it. He just…couldn't.

So he prayed out loud, his voice quiet and slightly ragged.

"Hey, Heaven. You sons of bitches are probably sick of hearing from me by now, but I don't care. I'm going to keep praying until someone gives me an answer. You can't…you can't leave me hanging like this," he said raggedly, and he almost lost it. His eyes stung and his chest constricted, and for a few seconds he couldn't breathe. When he had regained his control, he continued roughly, "You can't. You people have taken everything from me, time and again. You owe me this much, damn it!" he yelled at the sky as he finished, wanting to scream, break things, to make someone hurt as much as he did.

He was met only with silence.

Typical.

Dean closed his eyes and dropped his head, shaking with anger and grief. He wasn't going to cry. He'd done that way too much already the last few weeks, and he was tired of it. Tired of locking himself in the bathroom at night to grieve in private, tired of burying his face in the pillow to muffle the sounds of his pain, tired of the taste of salt on his lips, and especially tired of Sam's pitying gaze when he saw Dean's weary, puffy green eyes. He never said anything, probably because he knew Dean would rip him a new one if he did, but Dean knew he was worried and it irritated him. Sam had to worry about keeping a hold on his sanity, he couldn't be worrying about Dean too.

"Cas," Dean found himself whispering, even though he knew it was pointless. "Cas, buddy…you gotta come back, man. I know you probably feel guilty about the God thing, and the Leviathans, because that's just how you are. But Cas…you can't stay away like this. Sammy and I, we need you. You're one of us—you're  _family,_  Cas. We'll forgive you for all of it, you know we will, damn it, just get your feathery ass back! Please, Cas…please. Come back you stupid little angel. Please," Dean whispered before falling silent.

He stayed like that for a long time—kneeling in the damp grass by the river, waiting for an answer that he knew wouldn't come—because moving would mean feeling, and that was too painful. He blocked it all out because he couldn't take it. Only his cell phone buzzing in his pocket was able to rouse him. He dug it out without getting up, staring dully at the screen.

It was Sam. Probably wondering where he was.

Dean sighed wearily before reluctantly hitting the answer button, knowing that Sam would only worry and maybe try to come after him if he didn't, and he didn't want Sam to find him—didn't want him to know about Dean's visits to Castiel's watery grave. Sam didn't need to know.

"Yeah, what?" Dean grumbled into the phone.

"Where are you?" the younger hunter immediately demanded, confirming Dean's suspicions. The concern and slight irritation mixed in his tone had Dean bristling. He was the older brother, he could take care of himself, damn it. As he'd reminded Sam a countless number of times.

"Out for a drive," he said shortly, aware that he was being a total ass. Again. Not that he cared. "I needed to clear my head a little."

Sam made a skeptical, impatient noise. "Well hurry back—I think I may have found a case for us. It looks like Leviathans, but I guess it could also be demons—"

"Great," Dean interjected before Sam could start babbling about whatever it was he'd found. "I'm on my way." He hung up quickly, but he didn't move just yet. He went back to staring at the water, shivering a little in the cold morning air.

"I gotta go, Cas," he murmured. He knew nobody was listening—he knew that, but pretending there was was currently the only thing keeping him just slightly sane, so he kept at it. Sam had already lost his marbles, he couldn't afford to as well. Swallowing again, Dean shut his eyes tight as he added, "Sam needs me…work to do, you know. Saving people, hunting things. Family business—always something waiting." He laughed hollowly, wondering when that phrase had become so meaningless to him. "Anyways…you—you know how to find me, buddy. I'll be waiting whenever you decide to show your face. Just come back, okay Cas? I'll forgive everything you've done if you come back," he promised, and suddenly he couldn't spend another second there as his eyes burned and he spoke out loud to empty water.

He lurched to his feet, practically running to where he'd parked the Impala. He twisted keys in, but the familiar purr as he revved the engine lacked its usual comfort. Dean took one last lingering glance at the water—hoping for something, anything, even though he knew there wouldn't be—before he slammed his foot on the gas, driving as fast as he could, as though he could outrun the pain and loss chasing him if he was only quick enough.

He wouldn't be coming back to the river again, he decided. There was nothing here for him but a ghost.


	2. The Demons

_And at most,/I'm sleeping all these demons away_

* * *

It was demons.

Of course. It was always demons, in the end. Whatever other crap came up, whatever else they had to deal with, somehow it always came back to demons.

Not that Dean minded. He could use a little ass-kicking for a change. The Leviathans…well, he had no clue what to do about them. They were damn near invincible as far as he knew, and until he knew any differently he wasn't going to worry about it.

They wrapped up the case pretty easily. The meat-suits ("Don't call them that, Dean—they're  _people!"_ Sam admonished him as they burned the bodies) the demons were wearing didn't make it. They rarely did, but it still bothered Dean. Then again, almost everything bothered Dean lately. His moody silence as they got into the Impala to head towards the next pile of crap waiting for them had become the norm.

Not that that stopped Sam from trying to coax him into speaking, which only further irritated Dean.

"So…do you wanna say it, or should I?" Sam asked quietly from the passenger seat, quietly because Dean hadn't bothered to turn on the music.

"Say what?" he grumbled, glaring at the road illuminated by baby's headlights..

Sam sighed heavily. "You can't save everyone, Dean," he said gently. Dean bristled, hating that tone. He didn't need Sam to take care of him, damn it. He was Dean freaking Winchester—he didn't need  _anyone_ to take care of him, he took care of himself just fine. He  _was_ fine, and just wished everyone would leave him alone and quit poking at him trying to make him talk.

"I  _know_ that, Sam," he snapped, teeth gritted. A quick glare in his direction made it clear that further discussion was not at all welcome, so Sam just sighed and reached to turn on the radio. Dean didn't care for once, because at the moment anything sounded better than listening to his baby brother trying to console him.

That changed fairly quickly when he realized what song the station Sam had chosen was playing.

 _All Outta Love._ Air Supply.

 _You have_ _ **got**_ _to be kidding me,_  Dean groaned internally, going rigid all over.

" _I'm all out of love,/I'm so lost without you/I know you were right, believing for so long/I'm all out of love/What am I without you?/I can't be too late to say/That I was so wrong…"_  The lyrics were practically crooned. Dean could only hope the pain tearing through him wasn't visible on his face. Judging by Sam's swift apology and the pitying look in his eyes as he reached for the radio, Dean wasn't as stoic as he'd like to be.

He smacked Sam's hand away before it reached the off button, ignoring the incredulous look on his brother's face as he growled, "Just leave it. There's probably nothing else on anyways."

"…alright, man. Whatever you say." He knew Sam was watching him, something unreadable in his hazel eyes. When Dean glared at him again, the younger hunter sighed and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

Moments later, he was snoring, and Dean was lip-syncing with the voice on the radio because he dared not voice the words that were causing such turmoil in him. With Sam safely asleep, however, Dean relaxed enough to let the sadness fill him. For only five seconds, that was his rule—feel it for five seconds, just feel and accept the pain and sadness and loss, and no longer because otherwise it will consume him and drive him crazy. Dean counted to himself as he silently mouthed the words along with the radio.

_One…I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you…_

_Two…I know you were right, believing for so long…_

_Three…I'm all out of love…_

_Four…What am I without you?...I can't be too late…_

_Five…To know I was so wrong._

"Five seconds are up, Dean," he mumbled to himself. And just like that, the wall was back in place. The wall that kept him separate from the emotions that would kill him if he allowed them to. He drove on into the night, numb and refusing to feel the pain.

There was work to be done, and no one else could do it. So Dean pulled himself together and put his foot on the gas, racing towards the next case while simultaneously trying to outrun the grief constantly chasing after him.

Dean knew he couldn't outrun it forever. But he could sure as hell try.


	3. The Ghost

_But your ghost/The ghost of you/It keeps me awake_

* * *

Dean couldn't sleep.

He rarely could, these days. And when he could his dreams were no better than being awake. They weren't dreams of Hell, surprisingly-those had all ceased a while back. Occasionally one would still surface, but they were so few and far between that it didn't really worry Dean.

No, what worried Dean was that he was dreaming of a ghost. Castiel featured in his dreams, every night without fail. The scene differed, the outcome was always different-everything was different. The only thing that never changed was the blue-eyed angel that had somehow once again returned to his hunter.

Currently, Dean was glaring at the wall as Sam's soft snores assaulted his ears from the other bed. The glowing lights of the digital alarm informed him that it was 2:37 in the morning, and Dean knew he should at least try to sleep because he got reckless and stupid when he didn't rest enough and Sam would bitch at him.

But Dean didn't want to dream.

Dean's body and mind rarely listened to him, anymore. Against his will, his eyes slid closed.

And he dreamed.

* * *

_Dean was sitting on a bed in some random-ass crappy hotel, polishing his guns. He wasn't sure where Sam was-maybe out on a supply run?-and he wasn't particularly concerned about it._

_He was brooding, thinking of Castiel. He rarely thought of much else. Stupid bastard left and took Dean's heart with him, so Dean's recent depression and preoccupation was hardly shocking._

_A familiar rustle of feathers had Dean's head snapping up, his hand freezing as a painful hope ripped through him._

_The hope bloomed into dizzy relief as he found himself, impossibly, staring into those familiar blue eyes._

_"Cas," he whispered, voice hoarse._

_"Hello Dean," Castiel replied._

_And that was it. No offered explanation. No apology for his actions. Just 'hello Dean'. Like everything was okay. Dean thought of the weeks of hurt he had gone through because of this stupid angel, and anger lit in him, burning in his chest, devouring the small bubble of happiness that had been trying to grow there._

_"'Hello Dean'?" he mocked, glaring, as he rose to his feet. "That all you have to say?"  
_

_Cas blinked, looking confused. "I-what else would you have me say?" he asked, head tilting in that infuriatingly endearing way he always did. He had no right to look so innocent and puppyish, damn it._

_Dean barked a harsh laugh. "Oh, I don't know, maybe where the hell you've been? An apology for vanishing? An explanation for what the_ hell  _happened?" he demanded, and he was even more furious when he felt the familiar warning prickle in his eyes. He'd cried enough over this son of a bitch already, he would_ not  _shed a single tear more._

_The angel in question at least had the decency to duck his head and look abashed. "I...hadn't realized you would care so much. My apologies," he murmured._

_And that just broke something inside Dean. Wild emotions-rage, despair, love, affection, exasperation-burst from the wall he'd shoved them behind, and Dean was drowning in feelings as he grabbed the lapels of that stupid trench coat, yanking the angel forward and grabbing his chin, forcing him to look up into Dean's menacing glare._

_"You stupid son of a bitch," he growled, his voice almost ragged, grip on Castiel painfully tight but there was no protest or struggle, "You are part of my family. Of_ course _I cared. I prayed to you, man...every day. I thought I'd lost you, and you thought I wouldn't_ care?"  _he demanded, and damn it all, he was crying again. Cas looked at him with those unfathomable blue eyes._

_"It would seem I was mistaken," he replied. Dean snorted and blinked hard, releasing Castiel to cuff him gently-enough to know that while Dean was irritated with him, he was also forgiven-and scrubbing at his face before drawing the angel into a tight hug._

_"I missed you, man," Dean mumbled, burying his face in Cas' hair and breathing in the familiar, intoxicating scent of stars and ozone and Cas, his arms wrapped tight around the angel's torso. Castiel stood stiff and awkward at first, but after a few moments he relaxed and his arms rose slowly to return the embrace._

_Dean sighed and felt the pain of the last several weeks soothed-not erased, but greatly diminished by the knowledge that his angel was here, that he hadn't left as Dean had feared._

_"Thanks for coming back," Dean said, and he wanted to say so much more. He_ had _said more, during his prayers in those weeks, all the feelings and secrets he'd kept escaping his lips without inhibition when there was no one to hear them. Now, though, Dean didn't think he had the courage to repeat those three words. Not when Cas could actually hear him, not when they might scare him off and Dean had_ just  _gotten him back._

_He wanted more from Cas, so much more. But he'd thought he'd never have even this much again, so for now, he let it be enough, and he held tightly to his angel._

* * *

Dean awoke to the familiar feeling of tears on his face, his chest aching dully. Swearing under his breath, Dean scrubbed at his face and sat up. Stupid fucking subconscious.

He'd dreamt of the reunion he ached for a dozen times now. It always went differently. Sometimes it was like that, irritation but mostly forgiveness and relief to have him back. Sometimes it was just happiness and hugs. Sometimes it was embarrassingly sweet and emotional and Dean could hardly believe his subconscious thought that up, even though the feelings were definitely there. And sometimes it was anger, rage at being left behind.

It was always different, but always left him alone and aching at the end when he woke. He was tired of it. Tired of the dreams, tired of the ghost that plagued them, haunting him and refusing to let him be at peace. How could he be at peace when his loss was shoved in his face every freaking night?

Scrubbing his face again, Dean groaned. He was just...so tired. But he refused to sleep, because it would only mean more dreams that would make him hurt and cry and he was sick of it. So he rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Sam as he slipped out the door. He wasn't sure where he was going, just knew he couldn't stay there.

As he walked, Dean cast a weary glance at the sky. He missed his angel best friend. He loved Castiel and he had never even told him-would never be able to, now. It sucked and pissed Dean off. He sighed.

"Cas, man," he found himself murmuring, "where the hell are you? We need you...please, come back."

Praying was an exercise in futility, he'd proved it to himself through the lack of answers over the last several weeks. But even just the familiarity of the action was a bit soothing, and Dean found he could breathe easier.

So Dean kept walking and prayed to a ghost, because he was at a loss as to what else to do.


	4. Epilogue: Reunion

_Each time I think you're gone/I turn around and you're creeping in/And I let you under my skin_

* * *

It had been months. Dean still wasn't...okay, exactly, but he was better. Sam's pestering had finally gotten him to open up a little. They'd had a sappy conversation about feelings, and then Dean had cried and then Sam dragged him out to a bar and got wasted. A couple of hot girls caught his eye and grinned invitingly, but he didn't bother going over. Just kept drinking until his head was suitably fuzzy and Sam was telling him they had to get back to the motel.

Dean let himself be dragged back, but he didn't want to go in the room with Sam. He waved away Sam's protests, telling him he was just gonna sit out here for a while and think. Sam gave him a long look before finally nodding and reluctantly going inside.

Once he was alone, Dean stumbled over to the Impala and sat on the trunk, sighing and stretching until his bones popped. Then he leaned back until he was pressed against the back window, shivering at the cold but relishing it at the same time. He looked up at the stars, remembering all the times he and Sammy had sat like this, sharing a beer and just enjoying being together. One of his rare good memories of his childhood.

He's not sure how long he sat out there--maybe thirty minutes? He didn't bother keeping track, just stayed and enjoyed the quiet and the solitude and the...almost peaceful feeling he had.

He still missed Cas. He still hated that Cas was gone. But...he'd lost people before. It wasn't the end of the world. Well, not yet--they still had to deal with the Leviathans. But Cas had tried to make things right at the end, and Dean couldn't begrudge him that. He wasn't okay with him being gone, but he had begun the healing process.

"Dean." A low voice murmured his name nearby, and Dean sighed. He assumed it was Sam, come to bitch at him about coming inside before he got hypothermia or some shit like that. He sat up with a slight groan and turned, expecting to see his little brother--

\--and found himself staring into familiar, impossibly blue eyes instead.

His breath hitched in his throat, and he almost fell off the trunk where he was sitting in his haste to get up.  _I must have fallen asleep,_  he thought as he landed clumsily on his feet, eyes still locked on the angel's.  _It's another stupid fucking dream...just a dream._

"Cas?" he murmured, voice slurring a little. His head tilted and damn it if the move didn't make Dean's chest clench.

"Yes. I'm sorry I could not return sooner. There were...complications," he said, eyes intent as they stared into his. Dean listened attentively, his heart throbbing pounding aches in his chest.

"'s okay, Cas," he mumbled. "You're here now-'s all that matters." Cas looked... different, though. It took Dean's drunk mind way too long to pinpoint what was off, but then he felt immensely stupid--he wasn't wearing his trench coat. He wasn't wearing any of his usual attire, Dean realized with surprise. Instead of the suit and tie that he had always worn for the entire time Dean had known him, Cas was now wearing comfortably loose jeans, sneakers, and a blue long-sleeve sweater. He looked so... _not-Cas_ that it threw Dean through a loop, and he found himself staring until the angel squirmed, seeming uncomfortable with the silent scrutiny (which almost made Dean laugh, considering all the times Cas had stared at him creepily).

"Dean..." The angel murmured, his tone uncomfortable and apologetic, and Dean knew what he was going to say--the same thing he always said in this kind of dream, because Dean had figured out by now that it was one of the sappy instant-forgiveness ones that embarrassed him when he woke up--and he didn't need to hear it.

He reached a hand out and fumbled until he latched on to Cas' sleeve, tugging until the angel fell into his arms. Dean grunted and fell back a bit at the sudden weight, his arms encircling the angel, soft curly tendrils of hair tickling his chin. Dean pressed his face to them and inhaled, ignoring Cas' stiffness because he knew the angel would relax in a minute. He found that his hands were running up and down Cas' arms, almost stroking them, and he couldn't seem to stop. Cas wasn't protesting or struggling, though he did look confused when he tilted his head up to peer at Dean.

"'s okay, Cas," he murmured again, alcohol thick on his tongue and his breath. "You don't have to apologize--I've already forgiven you." Blue eyes widened in wonder and he seemed about to protest, and Dean really didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear Cas berate himself or try to convince Dean that he didn't deserve it.

So he bent down and pressed his lips to Cas' to shut him up.

A soft noise of surprise almost had him pulling away, but he could  _taste_ Castiel on his lips, heady and almost as intoxicating as the alcohol he'd consumed. So he slid his fingers up Cas' arms to twine them in his hair, pressing his body against Cas', and after only a moment the angel relaxed, attempting to mirror Dean's movements--Dean had to chuckle because the angel was so inexperienced, but he more than made up for it with enthusiasm--as his hands came to rest on the hunter's shoulders as though holding him close. One hand rested perilously close to the fading handprint scar and Dean shuddered, electricity sparking through him. An almost predatory growl emitted from Cas in response and  _fuck_ if it wasn't the hottest thing Dean had ever heard.

He let his tongue flick along Cas' lips, and Cas gasped softly. Dean took full advantage, his tongue slipping inside and dancing with Cas', and he felt more than heard the little moan that it drew from the angel. He chuckled darkly and nipped at Cas' lower lip. That got him another gasp and a growl, before he found himself pressed against the back of the Impala, much as he'd been before, only now with a warm angel practically on top of him.

_"Cas,"_ Dean almost groaned, only to be silenced by another hungry kiss from the angel. The dude learned quickly, Dean had to give him that, and he chuckled huskily as he slid his hands from Cas hair to trail down his back. When he reached a spot on his spine just below his shoulder blades, Cas' whole body shuddered in evident pleasure, and Dean felt his eyebrows arch in amusement. He rubbed experimentally and got the most adorable little mewling sound. Digging his nails in, he rolled his hips upwards against Cas', and they both groaned in pleasure, Cas now peppering small kisses along Dean's throat.

"Hey, Dean, I just wanted to check on--What the hell? Who are you?!"

Sam's voice was like a bucket of cold water to the face. Cas jolted back as though electrocuted while Dean froze, only tilting his head to stare at Sam, who had a gun out and trained on Cas' back. unable to move because of the angel's weight on top of him.

"What is this?!" Sam cried, looking confused and wary. "...Cas? Is that you?" he asked after a period of silence, peering in evident shock at the angel.

"Yes, Sam. I came to your brother first and received a rather...enthusiastic greeting," he said dryly, tone not at all matching the dilated pupils and slightly debauched lips he was speaking with.

"...I can see that," Sam chuckled weakly after a moment, slowly lowering the gun.

Dean was reeling, staring at the angel that was almost straddling him. Sam was never in his dreams--ever. This could only mean...

Oh God. This wasn't a dream. Cas was really back.

Dean could feel slow heat creeping up his cheeks, his eyes wide as he stared up at the angel. He released his grip on Cas' shoulder blades to cup his face, barely catching Sam's "We'll talk later--you seem...busy" and the motel door slamming shut, too focused on his angel to care about his brother at the moment.

The instant Dean touched his face, those blue eyes were once again staring into his, and Dean felt his breath hitch slightly, his thumbs gently stroking Cas' rough, stubbly cheek.

"You're real," he whispered, sitting up slowly. Cas slid off of him, standing in front of him as Dean remained sitting on the Impala's trunk, mostly because he felt like if he tried to stand his legs wouldn't support him.

"Of course I'm real," Castiel replied, tilting his head in confusion. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Just...I've been having...dreams...for months now. Dreams of you coming back, I mean. I thought this was another one," Dean explained haltingly. He found his hands were on Cas' forearms, as though needing to maintain contact to ensure himself that Cas really was here and wasn't going to vanish again. He knew his face was bright red, and just hoped Cas would put it down to his intoxication and not the embarrassment Dean felt at admitting he'd dreamed about the guy.

"Oh...I see. Well. It's not." He shuffled his feet awkwardly, but maintained eye contact, for which Dean was grateful. His eyes were the most purely _Cas_ thing about him, and they were the only thing keeping Dean grounded at the moment. His thumbs absently traced circles on the angel's wrist, and Cas glanced down for a moment at the movement, though he didn't seem to mind, before returning his gaze to Dean's once more.

"I'd kind of gathered that," Dean mumbled, and he felt the tears gathering in his own eyes now, damn it. "Sam's--he's never in my dreams," Dean explained at Cas' confused head tilt. The angel nodded, then gently freed one of his hands to touch Dean's face. He stroked his thumb there lightly, and Dean honestly couldn't help it--he leaned into the touch, exhaling raggedly, closing his eyes. Only to reopen them almost immediately because he couldn't believe this was real, if he closed his eyes then this might turn out to be a dream, Cas might vanish again, and he wouldn't be able to bear that.

"You're crying, Dean," he whispered, frowning. "Did I do something?"

Dean laughed pathetically, the sound almost like a sob, and used his grip on Cas' wrist to drag him close, wrapping his arms around the angel's neck and pressing his face to Cas' throat. "You came back," he mumbled into the skin there, voice small and vulnerable. "I thought I'd lost you, for good...but here you are. You came back."

"And...that made you unhappy?" the angel asked, sounding puzzled, hurt almost. Dean pulled back in shock, ignoring his damp face as he shook his head vigorously.

"Of course not, Cas! I'm so relieved that you're back it almost hurts. I'm so freaking  _happy,_ man. Why would you think that?"

"Because you're crying." He frowned. "If it's not because you're unhappy, then why are you crying?"

Dean laughed weakly again. "It's a thing humans do. Sometimes when we're really happy or relieved, we cry."

"I thought it signified sadness," Castiel noted, brow furrowing.

"Sometimes, yeah," Dean nodded, brushing absently at his face. "Most times, actually. But not always."

"Oh. Alright." There was a pause of comfortable silence where they just looked into each others' eyes, Dean basking in the knowledge that his best friend really was here this time, that he hadn't lost him. Then Cas spoke again, "Dean?"

"Mmm?" Dean murmured, his hands now on Cas' waist. He didn't remember putting them there. He wondered what Cas wanted to discuss now--there was a lot to talk about, and Dean was curious as to how Cas had come back, so maybe that was it. Cas' next words totally floored Dean, though.

"Why did you kiss me?" he asked.

Dean flushed bright red and immediately dropped his hands from Cas' waist as though he'd been burned, finally dropping his gaze.

"I got caught up in the moment...I was just so happy to see you. And I didn't want to hear you say you didn't deserve forgiveness, so it seemed like a good way to get you to shut up," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"...oh."

Then: "...could I request that you do it again?"

Dean's head snapped up, jaw dropping a little, to see a tiny, hopeful smile on his angel's face. Blue eyes imploring, Dean knew he was a goner right away.

Instead of answering, Dean leaned in and pressed his lips once more against Cas, his hands moving to the angel's hips to drag him closer. Cas came willingly, his hands on Dean's waist, kissing him eagerly, hungrily and it had Dean shivering in pleasure.

Yes, they had a lot to talk about. But for now, it could wait. For now, Dean had his angel back, and that was all he needed.

**- _Fin-_**

**Author's Note:**

> The italics at the start of each chapter are lyrics to Ella Henderson's song "Ghost", which came on my Pandora station and instantly made me think Destiel and...this bby fic was born. Enjoy(?)!
> 
> Talk to me @wayward-writes on Tumblr!
> 
> ~Lu


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